Seven Days
by hasy16
Summary: "She shivered. She didn't want to think about the near future. About what the unsub could do to her. About the amount of pain she could stand. About how the team would feel once they realized that she was missing. Anything about her current situation, really."
1. Chapter 1

Warning: story may get graphic. Contains violence and sexual assault.

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Day 1

She awoke slowly, aware of her aching body as each second passed. As she slowly opened her burning eyes, she saw only darkness. Once her eyes adjusted, she was able to take in her surroundings; a small door about 5 feet from her, four gray cement walls, a large shackle chaining her legs to a cast iron ring secured to the wall. A grimy toilet and sink were in one corner, for which she was grateful. The room was cold and felt damp, even though the Arizona summer was shaping up to be one of the hottest on record. There was no light, only a faint bright outline of the door illuminating the small room.

Prentiss let out a small sigh. Just her luck to get herself kidnapped by an unsub; the case the team was investigating was supposed to be short and simple. Classic misogynist narcissist who got his kicks raping and torturing women. They were surrogates for someone who had wronged him in the past; abusive mother, manipulative ex-girlfriend, or the like. Four bodies had been found, naked and thrown like trash into dumpsters across the city. All were brunettes with dark eyes. All had been brutally tortured; even Hotch hadn't been able to look at the atrocities for too long. The amount of pain and the injustices that the victims had suffered had been immense. On the jet ride over, the team had speculated that the unsub worked in the construction industry as all of the bodies were found within a ten minute walk of a construction site.

Clearly the case was not shaping up to be as easy as the team had hoped. Emily inwardly cursed herself for being such an easy target. The last thing she remembered was driving with Morgan to a convenience store and stepping in to pick up some refreshments for the team. Evidently, their car had been followed by the unsub, who then had followed her into the store. After that, she only recalled something painfully hitting her head, and darkness. She supposed that the unsub had left the store through the back exit and thrown her unconscious body into his car. Easy enough for him to do, as she wasn't a large woman. And now she was at his mercy

Emily continued to lie on the floor before finally deciding to sit up. She felt light headed and slightly nauseous, as though she had spent one too many times spinning around a carousel. Her body was sore and tired, but she slowly sat up and leaned against the cement wall. She didn't feel any shooting pains, but the shackles encircling her ankles were not, by any stretch of the imagination, comfortable. They gave her about a two foot radius to maneuver around the room. Her eyes weren't doing well either. She had started wearing contact lenses a few years back and they made her eyes dry and itchy. But she decided to keep wearing them; she wanted to be able to accurately assess the situation and find the best way to escape when the unsub decided to give her a visit.

She shivered. She didn't want to think about the near future. About what the unsub could do to her. About the amount of pain she could stand. About how the team would feel once they realized that she was missing. Anything about her current situation, really.

As if she needed this, after Doyle, after all the other times a case had caused her pain and trauma. A car crash, gunshot wound, concussion, regular old beating by Cyrus, poison ivy... And now taken hostage by a man who did not care for women at all. _Well_ , she thought grimly, _I'm certainly covering all of my bases_.

Her dark humor was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Someone was definitely coming to see her.

 _Now it begins_ , she thought.

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Let me know what you think! I don't own Criminal Minds.


	2. Chapter 2

Day 1 – continued

He threw open the cement door to her cell and it banged against the wall. Light flooded the small room, and Emily's eyes, accustomed to the darkness, struggled to adjust. The silhouette of the man standing above her didn't say anything, but she could see that he was shaking slightly. She mirrored his silence and waited for him to make the first move.

Anger built inside of him until he finally spoke.

"Welcome, you whore. Hope you are enjoying yourself."

His rage was evident from his shaking to his balled fists that looked ready to strike. And if he were to strike, he could cause serious damage. He was a large, obviously muscular man; Emily judged him to be about 6'3 and in his early thirties. He was classically handsome in an All-American way, with a tan, clean shaven face, light brown hair, and blue eyes. He could have just stepped off the beach in California or been an extra on the O.C. It was obvious from one glance that he could charm anyone. She wondered what had happened when his charm had failed.

"I've been better," she said. "These shackles aren't really my favourite accessory."

As if he hadn't heard her, he continued speaking. "Women are all the same. Unappreciative, manipulative, cold-blooded bitches who don't appreciate strong men. Feminist trash."

Emily signed inwardly; so he was one of _those_. She had seen many of them and even dated some. Men who wanted the 'good old days' back, where their wives stayed home all day, cooked, and waited on them hand and foot. Men who made backhand comments about their female colleagues and assumed that every time a woman was angry or emotional she was 'on the rag'. She gone out once with one guy who had insisted that he order her meal (and he had ordered her a well done steak, which she'd hated).

He continued ranting. "Women are fucking crazy, and nobody is stopping them. Nowadays you look at a women and next thing you know, she's crying rape and suing you for sexual harassment. The fucking broad should be thankful that anyone would even want to rape her."

"Is that what happened to you?" Emily asked cautiously. She didn't want to anger him further.

He looked at her in the eyes for the first time. Cold blue eyes filled with rage met tired brown ones. "Did I give you permission to speak? No. Now shut up. And when you address me, address me as Mr. Scott. Show some respect."

She nodded, quickly making a decision not to engage him this time.

"Remember, I am in charge of you. You are weak, worthless. I am powerful. I am strong. Is that clear?"

She nodded again.

He grabbed her by the chin and held her face close to his. She could see a nerve twitching in his forehead and smelled the sweat on his body. "I said, IS THAT CLEAR?"

"Yes, Mr. Scott," she replied quietly.

"Good." He dropped her back onto the floor and stormed out of the room. The door slammed behind him, and she heard the click of the lock.

 _Well, shit_ , she thought. Their unsub was clearly in the midst of a psychotic break. He had likely always had a bone to pick with strong women, and his anger had grown until finally something had pushed him over the edge. And now the years of his repressed fury had blown up. She could tell that he had lost touch with reality and wouldn't be swayed by logic or reason. He didn't seem to have any apprehension about the future, about how his spree would end. She predicted that he would never surrender and preferred to end this fighting, in a blaze of glory. And that was dangerous. All that mattered to him was the present.

She tried to think of the best strategy, the one that would harm her the least. If he hated strong women, she would stay quiet and submissive. Let him think that he was in control. It was evident that he appreciated authority and liked feeling powerful. But when the torture would start, she wouldn't scream. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

She thought about the previous victims. All of them had been beaten extensively. They had suffered broken ribs, internal bruising, and blows to over 40% of their bodies. The victims had abrasions on their ankles, from the shackles binding their legs. Their backs had been bloody messes – whipped extensively and repeatedly. One victim had been thrashed so badly that the spinous processes of her vertebrae could be seen poking out of her back. Three of the four victims experienced lung and trachea damage which the coroner said was consistent with being waterboarded. All of them had been sexually assaulted. Emily had seen the hickeys on their breasts and the ugly bruises between their legs.

She didn't see any possible ways to escape from him. Even if she somehow managed to overpower the unsub, she was still chained to the concrete wall.

This was not shaping up to be a great day. She really hoped that the team knew something was wrong, and was looking for her. She thought of how worried (JJ) and angry (Morgan) they would be. But they were the best in the country. If anyone could save her, it would be them.

Emily's musings were interrupted by footsteps pounding again. Again, the door slammed open. But this time, Mr. Scott came towards her. She tried to make herself smaller.

"I just saw your picture on the news! I bet your FBI friends are looking for you… too bad they'll never find you! You're not even worth their efforts, you don't deserve to be found, you disgusting whore!" He gave her a swift kick in the chest. She tried not to make a sound and bit her lip as the pain reverberated in her chest. But inside, she was elated! So the team _was_ looking for her. Hell, if she was on the news then the police, even civilians would be looking for her. Knowing that she wasn't alone, that they were trying to find her, brought her comfort.

"No? Not showing any reaction? Trying to be strong and manly are you? Well I'll show you that you're a weak, emotional, pathetic, fragile woman… like all the rest!" He kicked again, but lower this time. She recoiled as his boot pierced her stomach. She bit down on her lip harder, and tasted blood, but still didn't make a sound.

He kept kicking her until she finally gasped as she heard a crack. She felt a shooting pain just below her left breast and knew that one of her ribs had been broken. She couldn't stop the small moan from escaping her lips and she tried to keep her torso as still as possible to prevent any further damage.

Unfortunately, Mr. Scott had other plans for her. He delivered another kick right below her left breast.

The agony she felt was so powerful that black spots clouded her vision. She fought them, trying not to pass out. She tried to focus on her breathing, taking the deepest breaths that she could without further aggravating her broken rib.

Mr. Scott interrupted her attempts at meditation to pick her up from the floor by her hair. "Not so strong anymore, are you? Just wait… I'm only starting with you."

He dropped her and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Her body crumpled to the floor. She rolled onto her back and tried to continue breathing. Deep breaths caused the pain in her chest to intensify, so she focused on taking regular, shallow breaths. Clearly her attempts to play along with the unsub's sick mind were not working very well. _Might as well just fuck it and be herself,_ she thought. She knew that she was strong – okay, she tried to be strong. She had always been skilled at hiding her feeling and placing them into neat boxes in her mind. She wasn't sure how well she could put this experience in a box, though.

To distract herself from her aching body, burning eyes, and the pain in her rib threatening to overwhelm her, she remembered the team's last night out. They had all gone to a bar near the office in D.C. after a long case. It had been so nice to unwind… JJ had been owning Rossi's ass at darts, Morgan and Garcia had torn up the dance floor, she sat with Reid and Hotch at the bar, beers in hand… it had been so _right._ What she wouldn't give to be back with them now… The pleasant memories filled her head as she fell into an uncomfortable sleep.

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Thanks for your feedback! As well, I should mention that this is set during season 7. And the team will appear soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Warning: story may get graphic. Contains violence and sexual assault.

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Day 2

She awakened with a start, convinced that she heard his footsteps. But she must have been imagining them because when she froze, only silence greeted her. Her uneasy sleep had been anything but peaceful. She couldn't remember her dream, only that it was dark and black and cold and hopeless. Kind of like her reality.

Based on her biological clock, she felt like it was the morning although there was no indication of the time of day inside her cell. It was always dark, cold, and damp. It could have been two in the afternoon. But, she was confident that some time had passed, at least. She almost wished that she could have stayed asleep. Anything was better than being trapped here, waiting for the unsub to return and inflict some other atrocity upon her.

A night's rest had given her no relief from the pain radiating through her chest. Bracing herself, she lifted her shirt to look at the damage. Her skin, normally so pale that it seemed to glow, was not unlike a Jackson Pollock painting. An array of red, brown, and purple bruises blotted her abdomen. Some were in the shape of distinct boot marks, a reminder of the kicks that had caused them. But the thing that worried her most was the large, dark, heart-shaped mark under her left breast. She prodded it lightly, and winced. She knew that the only way to heal a rib fracture was rest and relaxation, two luxuries that were not available to her at the moment. Her eyes were still burning, and she decided to take her contact lenses out. Finally, her stomach was growling angrily. It had been a while since she'd had any food, and she thought longingly of the last sandwich she had enjoyed before being taken.

He burst in the door all at once. She was used to his violent entrances by now. He looked more unkept than he had yesterday, as if he hadn't slept at all. He hadn't changed clothes and his hair was tousled and messy. The same anger was in his eyes.

She saw the whip he was carrying and inhaled sharply. It looked to be about a metre long and made of leather. She was no expert, but she knew that a whip of that type was capable of causing serious damage. She remembered the mangled backs of the other victims and tried to brace herself for what was coming.

"Take off your shirt!"

She looked down at the shirt she was wearing. It was a thick white button-down shirt, she owned a few of the same style.

She shook her head.

"I told you to take off your damn shirt! Listen to me!"

She just looked into his cold blue eyes with all the defiance that she could muster.

"Let's do this the hard way, then. Women never make it easy for you…"

She was lying on her back. He towered over her and ripped her shirt open in the front, exposing the black bra that she was wearing. The buttons of her shirt flew off.

He tore it off her arms and back and tossed it aside.

 _Another shirt ruined on the job_ , she thought.

"Get on your knees!"

Begrudgingly, she lifted herself onto her knees. The sooner this started, the faster it would be over.

He felt his rough hands on her and she recoiled at his touch. He unhooked her bra and the black band fell to her sides.

The first crack of the whip startled her with its bite. She bit down on her lip tightly, as she had yesterday. She could take it. She had experienced worse.

She tasted blood as the second crack came down on her back. _Fuck this hurts_ , she thought.

The third time he whipped her it felt like she almost bit her whole bottom lip off.

"This… _crack_ … is… _crack_ … what… _crack_ … women… _crack_ … deserve! They… _crack_ … need… _crack_ …to… _crack_ … be … _crack_ … taught…. _crack_ … who… _crack_ … is… _crack_ …. in…. _crack_ …. charge!"

Screams pierced the room. Who else was in her cell? It took a moment for Emily to realize that the screams of pain were coming from her.

Pain, pain, burning, tore across her back. It felt like he had poured gasoline over her flesh and then tossed a match on it. She prayed to God, to anyone, to make him stop, to make him leave her alone, to make him get away from her.

 _I can survive this I can take it think of the team what if they were here I have to be strong for them I can't let him break me just think of something else but the pain and I can't do this and how did I let him do this to me I can't stop him I'm too weak I can't_

She could feel the blood pouring down her back like a river. Her voice was raw from screaming. Finally, he stopped and looked at her with disgust.

"Hopefully this has taught you a lesson, you filthy whore."

She collapsed on her stomach. It was a relief that she couldn't see what had been done. Raised dark red lines crossed her back in every direction. Some areas were dark red, where he had gone deep enough to reach the muscle of her back. They were starting to congeal and clot, but it was clear that even if the marks healed, the scars would be there for the rest of her life. The scare amount of skin that had been spared was dark crimson with blood.

The pain from her broken rib and the beating she had received yesterday was nothing compared to the agony of her back. She tried to block it out but it consumed her mind, it consumed her entire being. Blackness embraced her, and she welcomed the relief as she passed out.

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Sorry for the delay, work has been busy! Please let me know what you think.


	4. Chapter 4

Day 3

Warning: story may get graphic. Contains violence and sexual assault.

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Of all the members of the team, Morgan was probably taking Emily's kidnapping the worst. After all, she had been with him when it had happened. She had just ran into the store to grab drinks and some snacks for everyone, and then she was gone. Their unsub had taken her while Morgan was sitting just meters away. It was a display of power, the unsub showing that he was smarter than the best of the FBI.

It also felt personal; none of the other victims had been from law enforcement or even from the government until Emily had been abducted. Morgan was certainly taking it personally. After everything they had been through together; all the car rides and stakeouts and takedowns. After Doyle, and thinking she was dead and the guilt that had gnawed at his core. And then she was back, and safe, and it was Morgan and Prentiss together again. Something had felt so right, so organic and pure about their partnership. They both had the other's back, but now he had let her down. And she would pay the price.

Rationally Morgan knew that he couldn't have saved her; nobody had predicted this level of escalation from the unsub. But emotions are not rational, and the guilt bubbled inside him. He tried to make his feelings productive and threw himself even harder into the case, working tirelessly to find her. But part of his mind was taken over by the pain and anguish he felt. She was trapped with a violent unsub because of him.

JJ wasn't sure exactly how long she had been at work, trying desperately to find a new lead in the case. She vaguely remembered having a coffee around noon and it was now 5pm. She was exhausted, hungry, drained, but kept pushing on, holding out for the break that would lead them to Emily. She was looking over photos from the crime scenes for what felt like the hundredth time and couldn't stop looking at the broken bodies of the second victim. Thick brown hair, tall, pale… she could have been Emily's cousin. Suddenly JJ wasn't looking at a picture Avery Kaufmann of Sedona, Arizona; she was looking at her colleague and friend Emily Prentiss, lying dead on the yellow grass.

JJ felt her eyes fill with tears and she felt nauseous. She quickly left the room and went to the bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face and tried to take a few deep breaths. Running her fingers through her hair, she noticed the large bags under her eyes and the disheveled look of her clothes. She knew that she should take better care of herself but couldn't, not while Emily was in danger. JJ remembered her sitting with her on the plane to London, she had been so fragile and broken after recovering from the stake to her abdomen. She had been so quiet and seemed smaller somehow. JJ didn't want to see her in that state again and went back to the boardroom determined to keep working.

Reid had noticed JJ leaving but didn't say anything. All of them had needed multiple breaks to compose themselves after hearing Morgan's frantic phone call. At first they couldn't believe what had happened and. Reid kept waiting for Emily to cheer everyone up with coffee or make a sassy comment about the unsub's antics. But after the first day her absence was felt and hovered like a gray cloud over the boardroom. The urgency and desperation to solve the case increased every passing minute that she was in the hands of the unsub.

Reid considered Emily his close friend and confidante. She was the one who had taken a beating for him when they had been held by Cyrus and had since saved his life multiple times. She was the only one whom he had told about his headaches and would agree to watch a Russian film with him. He couldn't let her go through something like this, after everything that she had already suffered. He continued with the geographical profile of the unsub, his mind moving at warp speed.

Hotch could almost see the wheels in Reid's head turning as he drew on the map spread in front of him. Hotch tried to focus his mind on the unsub's profile but found his mind wandering. His thoughts seemed to move in a circle: _How could we let this happen? She has survived so much already, how can she handle more? We have to find her. But how could we let this happen?_ As team leader, Hotch felt responsible for every member of his team. He remembered when Reid had been kidnapped and how his dilaudid addiction had caused him such pain, when Garcia had been shot and laid so still on her hospital bed, when Morgan had confronted Carl Buford and the demons that had awaken. Hotch couldn't add Emily being kidnapped and tortured to his heartbreaking list of times he had failed.

Rossi felt exhausted but knew that he could rest when Emily had been found. Every moment that passed with him sitting comfortably in the boardroom was a moment that she was trapped with him, probably in large amounts of pain. The image of Emily lying bloody on the cold ground with a silhouette of an angry man over her kept Rossi motivated and determine to find her before it was too late. Rossi knew that it had already been three days and didn't let himself think of the torture the other victims had suffered. He focused on the construction site angle, looking through companies working in the areas that the bodies had been dumped.

The last member of the team sat behind her computer screen, as per usual. Stray tears trickled down Garcia's face and she angrily swatted at them. She trying to keep herself together but every so often she thought of Emily's abduction and she couldn't stop herself from crying. Then Garcia kept thinking of the pain Emily must be in, how scared she must be, and how isolated she must feel… and she kept crying. She knew that she needed a breakthrough, a solid lead to give the team, but for once she couldn't seem to find one. But she wouldn't give up, she had to keep trying to save her friend. So her fingers continued moving over her keyboard as tears fell from her eyes.

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Sorry for the long delay! Life got in the way as it always does. As requested, a look into the lives of the team. Thanks for your comments and suggestions.


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